And while he chanced to be walking through a shady woodland, he plucked up by the roots all oak that stuck in his path, and, by simply stripping it of its branches, made it look like a stout club.

Having this trusty weapon, he composed a short song as follows: "Behold! The rough burden which I bear with straining crest, shall unto crests bring wounds and destruction.

Never shall any weapon of leafy wood crush the Goths with direr augury.

It shall shatter the towering strength of the knotty neck, and shall bruise the hollow temples with the mass of timber.

The club which shall quell the wild madness of the land shall be no less fatal to the Swedes.